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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383425">In spite of the shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar'>Mtraverandujar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Battlestar Galactica (2003)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:22:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Do we even deserve this?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Adama/Laura Roslin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In spite of the shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Laura and Bill don't belong to me. I just fill in the gaps for the sake of my own sanity.<br/>This scene always made me wonder what happened next, after the camera drifted away leaving them alone. It was about time I explored it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘We give him his trial.’</p><p>Her words startle him. Then, he feels her hand laying down on his thigh like a feather. Maybe she means to soothe him, maybe she is trying to make him look at her, to establish a connection. Maybe she is trying to reach him.</p><p>He turns, takes her in. Her beautiful hair is fanned out on his pillow; the barest hint of a smile dances in her pupils. Exhaustion is written all over her traits along with something else, something he can’t name. He does not need to voice all the objections that throng in his head; she can so clearly read him.</p><p>‘I can’t save humanity at the cost of my own soul. You taught me this.’</p><p>Bill snorts.</p><p>‘You wouldn’t believe how often I regret that decision.’</p><p>She lets out a sad chuckle.</p><p>‘I may have a slight notion. We all paid a high price when I didn’t steal that election. But you were right. And it’s about time I return the favor.’ She pauses. ‘Giving him a trial is the right thing to do here.’</p><p>He averts his eyes. He knows she is right, of course; but just the thought of giving Gaius Baltar a fair trial sends a wave of nausea through his system. He also hates how defeated she sounds. Defeated over again by the same man, who can’t even dream of holding a candle up to her.</p><p>‘Where’s the line, Bill?’</p><p>He turns to her, puzzled.</p><p>‘The line of no return. That line you cross one day and there’s no turning back, you lose your soul forever. Where is it? You know what I mean. One heinous decision too many and it’s over. Something shatters deep down and it’s no longer you, no longer me. Will we always be able to stop one another before it’s too late, before we go too far, before we get too carried away by our own questionable desires?’</p><p>‘I don’t know.’ He admits, somber.</p><p>‘We do all we do for the sake of humanity, but that can’t be an excuse for just anything. Giving up your values, your beliefs… Where does it stop being self-sacrifice and starts being selfish, just plain wrong?’</p><p>Bill remains silent, pondering her words. He is not sure he likes where this conversation is going.</p><p>‘I’d like to think it is okay if you have the right intentions.’ She can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that plague her. ‘But this rationale doesn’t work with the kind of decisions we face. It would be a too easy way to let us off the hook. We must do right. It’s not optional.’</p><p>He tilts his face up, as if he hopes to find the answer written on the ceiling.</p><p>‘You can at least tell it’s wrong when you can’t even justify your actions with some noble goal you were trying to achieve. At the end of the day, it’s staying true to yourself that grounds you when everything else is uncertain.’</p><p>‘But our own personal feelings should not matter in the end, should them? It’s possible to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Or to feel revolted to do what you know you must.’</p><p>Bill pinches the bridge of his nose. He is growing impatient. He understands why she is doing this, but he was never too fond of second-guessing games, and he sure as hell does not like seeing Laura berate herself. For all their mistakes, both shared and individual, all they ever tried was to protect humanity. They brought the fleet all the way here; they are determined to keep shouldering this burden. That must count. Frak, at some point, that must be enough.</p><p>Then again, he does feel the guilt, doesn’t he? He may not consciously re-examine his most questionable deeds, but he can certainly feel their weight in his chest. Laura is just shining a light on what he usually tries to bury.</p><p>‘Want something to drink?’</p><p>‘Just water, please.’</p><p>His joints complain as he rises off the mattress. He pours two glasses of water, walks back to his bunk and offers one to her. She sits up folding her legs under her, accepts it, takes a sip.</p><p>‘Thank you.’</p><p>He sits down again and studies her.</p><p>‘How can I help?’ He finally asks.</p><p>She waves her hand in the air, gulps, clears her throat.</p><p>‘Hmm. It’s okay. Just a headache.’</p><p>Bill knows better than to buy this. He shakes his head in reflection.</p><p>‘Don’t chastise yourself, Laura. After all you went through because of that bastard, I don’t think I’d have the nerve to offer him a fair trial.’</p><p>Laura sighs.</p><p>‘I know. But it’s not about him. It’s about me.’ She pauses. ‘It’s about you.’</p><p>He turns to her, a brow slightly arched. It didn’t occur to him that she is mindful of his feelings, his conscience, his inner peace. That she feels responsible for them.</p><p>‘I was trained to torture men, Laura. I can endure this.’</p><p>‘I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s right of me to push you to do it. Especially when it’s useless. If you’ve been trained to follow even the most awful orders, that’s one more reason for your commander-in-chief to make sure she delivers the right ones.’</p><p>He can’t believe he is only realizing it now, as his eyes plunge into hers to find the answer right there. It is not even particularly hidden in that gaze that seems so transparent now but that he knows can be so guarded. He wonders how he didn’t figure it out much earlier, it seems so evident now. He knows she cares. How could she not feel the toll of every decision, of all the calls that are ultimately hers to make? And as far as tolls go, this one may be way more personal to her than he suspected. She worries about him, even when he is just performing his duty. Even as she asks things of him that she knows will weigh down on him, haunt him for a long time afterwards. <em>Especially</em> when she has to. It is never herself she is afraid of damaging.</p><p>‘I hate to break this to you, but you’re far from having the exclusive on responsibility and guilt.’</p><p>He cracks a small smile, one meant to convey a measure of humor and complicity. Laura tilts her head to the side, the green glow of her eyes lighting up the room.</p><p>‘Yet you wouldn’t have done it had I said No.’</p><p>‘It doesn’t mean I was any less willing to do it.’</p><p>Her eyes narrow as she studies him intensely; as if she had trouble believing that he really was right there with her in this wicked, perverse game they have just played with Gaius frakking Baltar.</p><p>‘When I think of you stranded on that mud rock, chased, in detention… And how that sorry excuse for a president sold himself to the cylons without even putting up a fight…’</p><p>Bill shakes his head. His solid ethical core reassures him every time he looks back that stopping Laura from stealing the election was the right call. His logical mind understands that he also made the best tactical decision by jumping away. His memory serves him well when it reminds him that he came back and saved them all. It is his heart that keeps having trouble with the entire notion of twisting her arm and letting the fleet settle on the planet, just to jump into safety as soon as the enemy showed up, leaving them behind.</p><p>Leaving her behind.</p><p>She must know this really is about her. She is smart enough to realize that what is true for herself must also be true for him; that he gives himself hell every day of his life for all the miseries she had to cope with because of him, the wrongs he made her do.</p><p>Her hand lands on his forearm, its pull irresistible. He meets her eyes.</p><p>‘I once heard a wise man say that it’s not enough to survive; that we must stay worthy of survival.’</p><p>Bill lowers his gaze to his hands that rest on his lap, nursing his now empty glass. He refuses to think. He focuses on her touch; on the rush of electricity it sends through his system, on how such a soft caress can be both so soothing and so rousing, how it can quiet his aching heart as much as awaken his senses in ways he had long forgotten.</p><p>‘I’m so lucky you’re here, Bill. I can’t do this without you.’</p><p>He wonders what her <em>This</em> encompasses. Probably, she only means her job. Still, he plunges into her gaze, where he has learned to read her secrets.</p><p>‘You won’t have to.’</p><p>He hopes she knows that, when he says he will be there for her, he does not mean just <em>This</em>.</p><p>There is not a lot more to say. That is why, instead of speaking, he lays one hand on the delicate fingers that rest on his forearm. For a few seconds, his palm just warms up her hand, his thumb stroking her skin. At some point, he glances up to her. She looks both serene and touched. Serene, because she is relaxed, leaning backwards on the bulkhead, and meets his gaze openly. Touched, because she is biting her lower lip and her breathing has quickened, her chest visibly swelling with every sharp intake of air.</p><p>Her hand shakes as he lifts it to his lips, letting his eyelids fall at the touch. This is Laura’s scent, this is her skin; this is the feel of her, the pulse of blood through her veins, her flesh under his lips. She is his lifeline and, on days like today, when she lets him catch a glimpse of her vulnerability, he likes to think he is hers, too. This is the one thing that makes sense in the entire universe.</p><p>When he lifts his gaze, hers glows like green fire among the shadows of his bunk. The dim light of his quarters accentuates her features; her lines and planes, her mountains and valleys. His throat goes dry. She is his partner, his friend, and the most extraordinary woman he has ever met, in every possible sense of the word. And she is right here, resting confidently and making confessions on his rack, so close to him that he can smell her shampoo. Yet there are days when he still can’t believe the evidence. There are days he still refuses to acknowledge what Laura stirs in him, what he sees in her eyes when they look at him.</p><p>It should scare him, and some days it does.</p><p>He leans over to leave his glass on the floor and shifts on the mattress, sitting closer. She straightens her back, unfolds her legs from under her and extends them. When he lifts a hand to her cheek, she closes her eyes and leans into his palm. A low hum escapes her. She is pliant, her armor down, and it makes her spell on him all the more intoxicating. This is Laura; more herself than ever.</p><p>Even in doubt and exhaustion, she is still strength and faith.</p><p>Even defeated, she can still make everything right.</p><p>Because that is the one thing she always tries: to make everything right for everyone. And she will never quit, no matter how hard she fails sometimes, how miserable it makes her feel, or if she loses her very life in the process.</p><p>His fingers slide on the back of her neck, under that thick mass of gorgeous russet hair. He pulls gently, she bows down, and he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. Her scent invades his nostrils; he feels his grasp on his own emotions desert him. He does not try to stop it. He has been avoiding this, her, for a while now; letting her see enough not to doubt his affection, yet also keeping his distance. Now, he has a hard time remembering why. It was something about how letting people get too close, caring too much about some, can cloud your judgment and make you a weaker, poorer leader.</p><p>He is not a leader now. He no longer feels like he deserves the title. Not after having resourced to torture; especially not after having tempted Laura to try it.</p><p>That is why he does not even try to stop himself when his thumb slides under her chin and pushes it up. Her eyes are closed, and her lips spread in a faint, knowing smile that tells him she guesses his intentions. He feels her nimble fingers clutch the fabric that covers his chest, and if this weren’t Laura, the bravest human being he has ever known, he would say she is all but securing herself to him. It fills him with wonder that she chooses him.</p><p>This, at least, he can accomplish. He can offer her comfort. He can make her feel safe.</p><p>Her smile fades away and a small frown appears between her brows as she focuses on what comes next; one second before his lips brush hers.</p><p>He can still count their kisses with the fingers of one hand. Bittersweet, the day she promoted him (he started it, she softly responded); passionate, that night on New Caprica (initiated by her, he willingly obliged). Desperate, the first time they saw each other again after the exodus (he couldn’t tell who got it started if he wanted to, and who cares, really). Still, every time he is caught off-guard by the warm flow that spreads in his chest as she parts her lips and welcomes him in. He basks in it. He doesn’t think he will ever get used to the wonder of this woman giving in to him, and it is such a blessing that every time feels new. Her nails scrape the back of his neck, bold and unapologetic. He shivers and Laura, eyes closed, smiles against his mouth, sensing his reaction. Then he plunges into her mouth and it is her turn to shake under his tender counterattack; her moan melts his bones, turns his sturdy body into jelly, all the while fueling his desire for her.</p><p>‘Do we even deserve this?’ She breathes, and the air that carries her words caresses his ear, making him shudder.</p><p>‘What?’ He murmurs against her neck.</p><p>Laura pulls back now, leaving her hands wrapped around his collar. Her lips are wet, her cheeks flushed, her hair disheveled, her eyes ablaze. The sight makes him forget to breathe.</p><p>‘Us.’</p><p>He forces himself to return to reality, then grunts.</p><p>‘Probably not, because you and I seldom get what we deserve.’</p><p>She chuckles.</p><p>‘Is that good or bad?’</p><p>‘Depends on what you think we deserve.’</p><p>‘I don’t know anymore.’</p><p>She is serious now, but she does not seem troubled, or at odds with the notion. She has always been ready to self-sacrifice. She is just stating a fact.</p><p>‘Neither do I, Laura. But I’m not questioning this.’</p><p>She seems to reflect.</p><p>‘The fleet still needs its leaders. This keeps me going.’ She lets out in a whisper.</p><p>This time around, he does not need to ask what she means by <em>This</em>.</p><p>‘I wish…’ He starts and trails off.</p><p>Laura lowers her hands to his lap and takes his, squeezes them. She can’t possibly imagine how she holds him together with such a simple gesture. He would like to tell her, but any words with which he could try to convey it would somehow feel inadequate.</p><p>As he won’t reply, she leans over to the side, searching his expression. A stray lock of hair settles in the curve of her neck; it makes him lose focus for a moment.</p><p>‘What is it, Bill?’</p><p>He meets her gaze, finds it brimming with concern for him. She seems to be wondering how she could miss his distress before; she is giving him her undivided attention in that unique way of hers that makes him weak at the knees. But it is nothing like that. He is okay. He just has this longing, this conflict, this…</p><p>He lifts their hands to his lips, lingers in the touch. When he speaks, his breath caresses her skin, and he feels jealous that it can.</p><p>‘Some days I hate our positions.’</p><p>He gives her a small smile. A grin spreads on her lips and she blushes, and he knows he doesn’t need to say anything else for her to grasp what he means. The way her eyes light up sends a flutter to his stomach. As hard as he tries not to cross certain boundaries -for her sake as much as his own, he thinks- he doesn’t know who he is trying to fool: he is helpless. He has been for a long time now.</p><p>And despite his fears and reservations and how much harder <em>this</em> makes their already challenging lives - how much more worth their while too, whether they deserve it or not- as he sits here sharing Laura’s quiet intimacy at the end of the day, there is nothing in the entire universe he would trade this for.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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